One Night's Mistake
by Hermionesclass101
Summary: Hermione just found out she's pregnant and she has to find a way to tell Ron. But the thing is, it isn't Ron's. In fact, she's pregnant with the child of the one person Ron hates more than Voldemort himself. On top of that, she has to finish 7th year.
1. The First Mistake

Draco rolled over and opened his eyes, slightly aware of a comfortable warmth beside him. The sunlight was streaming in through unfamiliar curtains, and through the haze of sleep, he could vaguely see a red shirt in the corner of the room. Blinking his eyes rapidly, the memories of the night before came rushing back to him, and he gasped in horror. He turned slowly, looking down at the sleeping figure beside him. Upon recognizing the bushy brown hair, he leaped from the bed as though it were on fire.

Quickly starting to don his black slacks, he felt dirty, the type of dirty that couldn't be washed away. He could not believe things had gone so far. She was a Mudblood, dammit! His father was probably rolling in his grave at that moment.

He moved to exit the room, and was forced to step over many books strewn hither and thither. _Stinking Mudblood lives in the filth she deserves, I suppose, _he though viciously, kicking many of the books out of his way. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, there was movement from the bed, and a soft sigh.

In horror, Draco spun slowly on the spot, terrified of what would happen if she were to find him here. She was vicious with a wand, even he had to admit it, and the wand was within easy reach beside her.

He froze as she rolled over to face the door. Immobile with one had on the doorknob and the other clenching his shoes, a look of dismay crossed his face as the young woman raised her head to look at him.

"Malfoy?" she asked, surprise and venom both coating her voice. Obviously she didn't recall what had happened. She would. Eventually. Before she could say anything else, Draco bolted out the door and down the stairs, leaving a confused Mudblood behind.

* * *

Hermione watched in confusion as Draco Malfoy scampered out of the inn room that was her home. She looked slowly around, spying the crumpled red shirt on the floor and recalling the pair of shoes the young man had held as the memories came trickling back to her. She inhaled sharply, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked under the blankets at her naked body. What had she done?

She sat up quickly and jumped from the bed, running towards the bathroom and hopping into the shower. She adjusted the tap to hot and let the scalding water trickle down her skin. Gasping at the heat, she picked up her cloth and scrubbed her skin fiercely. Even after almost an hour, when her skin was red and tender, she still couldn't get the feeling of disgrace from her body.

After her brutal shower, she pulled on the first articles of clothing she could lay her hands on, and pulled her still-wet hair into a pony-tail. Stepping nimbly down the stairs, she kept her head down as she walked towards the bar. Climbing onto a barstool, she waved her hand towards Madam Rosmerta.

"Aren't you going a little heavy on the Firewhiskey, my dear?" the kind woman asked, "That's every day this week. Can't I bring you something a little less strong today? How about a Butterbeer?"

"No thanks, Rosmerta, a Firewhiskey is fine," she insisted. The elegant barmaid shook her head in disapproval, but brought her a glass anyway.

_Being eighteen is supposed to be fun_, she reflected as she stared into the dark red liquid a little while later, _But instead I find myself without a home, without parents and without a life. _And_ I just slept with Draco Malfoy_.

At this depressing notion, she drained her glass and motioned again to Madame Rosmerta.

"That's quite enough for tonight, Miss Granger. Why don't you go and sleep it off now?" a concerned Rosmerta insisted, nearly pushing the abysmally intoxicated young woman out of her seat. Too far gone to protest, Hermione obediently climbed the stairs slowly towards her room.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was in a similar state at Malfoy Manor, but unlike Hermione, he had no one to tell him when to stop. After draining his fourth tall glass, he refilled it and looked into the depths, recalling the last two months.

They had been hell, to say the very least. He tried his hardest to push the thoughts out of his head and drained his glass again. He poured himself yet another and stared into the multi-faceted surface of the glass. He rose from his seat and approached the fire, unsteady on his feet. As his eyes slid in and out of focus, the flickering flames brought back the horrors of the Final Battle and the results of said battle.

He had watched as one of his only companions – not friend, but companion – was killed by his own stupidity, burned to death in Fiendfyre. He had watched as his father, the man he respected – not loved, but respected – was carted off to Azkaban, to be at the cold mercy of the Dementors and die less than two weeks later. And he had watched as his mother, a woman he actually had loved, had died from grief, depressed and lonely. He had watched and been unable to do anything.

And then there was the Mudblood. He could not believe she had had the impudence to touch _him,_ the Slytherin Prince, with her filthy hands. Better yet, how had he suffered from such a lack of judgement?

Growling angrily at the thought of _her, _he threw the glass and the remaining Firewhiskey into the fire and watched in satisfaction as it exploded in a cloud of red smoke. Stumbling drunkenly as he made his way to the bedroom, he collapsed onto the grand green and silver four-poster, asleep before his head hit the pillow, sleeping away his intoxication as well as his worries.

* * *

Hermione awoke to a sharp tapping sound from her window, making her head throb. As she looked up, she could vaguely see an owl hovering outside her window. She stumbled over to it, closing her eyes against the blinding sunlight and quickly accepted the letter before pulling the curtains closed. Throwing the letter onto the bed, she staggered towards the bathroom and wrenched open the medicine cabinet, sifting through the many potions and pill bottles before finding the potion she was looking for.

She quickly drained the thick green liquid and her head cleared at once. Sighing in relief, she made her way back to the bedroom, flopping down on her bed and opening her post. Something metal fell to the floor with a floor with a clatter. Warily, she looked at it and struggled for breath as surprise engulfed her.

She leaned down and scooped up the badge – for that is what it was, a badge – and read the small word on it. _Prefect. _She already had a Prefect badge. But she had lost it somewhere along the way. Wait, she was supposed to go back to Hogwarts this year, wasn't she? She hadn't finished her N.E.W.T. year. She had forgotten amidst her depression.

She had to go back, though. Her parents would have wanted it, and now they didn't remember her, she wanted to make sure they would have been proud of their little girl.

Wiping away a stray tear, she flopped backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling before something dawned on her. Here she was, graduating a year late, an alcoholic Prefect. Now _that _was a first.

Deciding she wanted to make a good impression, she leaped from her bed and showered quickly before dressing. Leaving the letter on the bed and closing the door behind her, she descended the stairs towards the bar.

"Another Firewhiskey, Miss Granger?" the barmaid asked disapprovingly. Hermione shook her head.

"No thanks, Rosmerta, I've got to go to Diagon Alley. Can I use your Floo?"

"Of course, dear," the woman said cheerfully, gesturing towards the hearth, "The powder is in the flower pot."

Hermione smiled and nodded, approaching the hearth and lighting a fire with her wand. She threw the powder into the fire and spoke clearly as she stepped gracefully into the vivid green flames, "Diagon Alley!"

As soon as the uncomfortable spinning had come to a halt, Hermione stepped deftly into the darkened pub. Waving happily at Tom, she strode eagerly into the bright sunlight and dazzling colours of Diagon Alley.

* * *

Draco was awoken by a timid squeak coming from beside his bed. Immediately alert, he spun around and seized the source of the noise by the neck, and a sharp squeaking voice met his ears.

"Master, Master, Noddy is sorry, Noddy was just bringing Master his post and his potion, sir," the small form trilled and Draco released it in disgust. It yelped and placed a letter and a cup on his beside table before scuttling off.

Huffing in annoyance, Draco rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and drained the thick green liquid to clear his head. Picking up the envelope, he broke the familiar red wax seal and tipped out the letter. Something heavy fell out and bounced onto the bedspread. He picked it up.

He raised an eyebrow sceptically as he read the print on the badge. _Prefect. _Did they actually think he would come back?

But then, he didn't have anything better to do, did he? Sighing in resentment, he summoned the house-elf, thrusting the book list into its tiny hands.

"Buy these, and a new wand," he instructed coldly. Noddy bowed and disappeared with a _pop._


	2. Rectifying a Mistake

A week later, Hermione sat on her bed, gnawing on her nails. Something terrible had happened, something unthinkable. But there was always the slim chance she was wrong. She hoped this time was one of the rare few.

There was a knock on her door and she bid the person enter in a small voice. A redhead girl opened the door and approached the nervous girl.

"What's wrong, 'Mione?" Ginny asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping her arm around the older girl, "Your owl sounded really urgent."

"Gin," Hermione whispered, fear reflected in her eyes, "I'm…I'm late,"

"What are you late for, Hermione?" the younger girl asked, confused.

"No, Gin," Hermione said in a quiet but meaningful voice, "I'm late."

"Oh," the redhead sighed, at a loss for words, "How late?"

"Three days,"

"Well, that's not too bad," the girl sighed in relief, "Any other symptoms?"

"My breasts hurt, I've been craving sushi, when I hate seafood, and I have a pounding headache," the young woman murmured.

"It could be PMS," Ginny suggested rationally.

"No, Ginny, I _know _it's not PMS."

Ginny exhaled loudly, "Does Ron know?" Hermione squeaked nervously, rocking back and forth. Ginny looked at her in surprise, tightening her hold on her shoulders and holding her still.

"Ron and I haven't even……you know," she said nervously in a soft undertone. Ginny looked at her in disbelief.

"Well then how is it possible?" she asked in surprise. Hermione opened and closed her mouth but no sound came out, "Sorry, what?"

Hermione seized her pillow and bit down on the corner of it, tears trickling down her face, "Drph Mphoy." Ginny raised one eyebrow.

"What?"

"Draco Malfoy," she articulated slowly, in the lowest voice possible. Ginny gasped, and jumped up.

"Did you just say _Draco Malfoy_?!" she yelled. Hermione flinched and she nodded reluctantly.

"Are you feeling alright, Hermione? How could you have forgotten that he insulted you, me, and just about everyone else for _six bloody years?_ How could you have forgotten that he fought in the Final Battle _and tried to kill you? _What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Hermione?"

"I don't know!" the distraught girl sobbed, "I was drunk out of my bloody head, and I was goddamn depressed because your brother blew me off again! And I only told you because I thought you would understand!"

Ginny was brought back down to earth by the sound of the distressed girl's voice. She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and rubbed her friend's back, "I'm sorry, 'Mione," she murmured, "I got carried away."

Hermione sat up, sniffling and wiping away her tears, "I don't know what to do, Gin! I'm—I'm so scared!"

"Oh, 'Mione," Ginny sighed sympathetically, "I don't think there's much you can do."

"There has to be something!" Hermione grabbed Ginny's arm and gripped it tightly.

"OK, if you promise to calm down, we can go over some options," Ginny gasped, prying her arm away from Hermione's hand. The girl nodded and forced herself to sit still, "OK. First, let's assume this is what we think it is." Hermione nodded, gulping. Ginny stood up and started pacing.

"One. You get an abortion." Hermione squeaked and shook her head violently, "OK…two. You put it up for adoption. And three. You keep it."

"I can't," Hermione said quietly, "I have to keep it. I couldn't bear that, especially if it's magic."

"OK. Well, we also need to figure out how to hide it. First of all, I think you need to tell Ron the truth." Ginny said, looking at the brunette. She leaped up and started pacing back and forth across the room.

"Oh, Ginny, I can't!" she cried, wringing her hands, "He'll never forgive me!"

"But if he finds out on his own then he really won't ever forgive you!" Ginny pointed out, "The only thing you could do to keep it from him would to be to… you know…with him and then pretend it happened there."

"Oh, Ginny, that's perfect!" Hermione said happily, hugging her friend tightly.

"Just one problem," Ginny said, "What if it has blond hair?"

Hermione's elation disappeared as quickly as it had come. She covered her chin with her hand and her forehead creased. Ginny knew she was thinking.

"I'll say it must have been from my mother. Ron'll believe that. Won't he?" she asked, her rational side taking over to cover up her hysteria.

"Maybe…" Ginny said reluctantly, "He might. I have another question. Are you going to tell ferret-boy?"

"NO!" Hermione yelled frantically, grabbing Ginny by the collar, "He can NEVER know! Please Ginny, promise me you won't tell ANYONE! Please!"

"Hermione, let go of me!" she insisted, yanking out of her grip, "OK! OK! I promise!"

Hermione sighed with relief and collapsed on the floor, the hugeness of everything that had happened overwhelming her, "Thank you, Gin," she whispered, "Ask Ron to come over tonight, OK?"

Ginny nodded, and with one last sympathetic look at her helpless friend, she left, closing the door tightly behind her. Hermione finally lost her resolve completely, and broke down into tears once again.

* * *

Hermione cast a glance around the room once again, wringing her hands. Everything was perfect. Just one last touch.

She swept over to the dresser and seized her wand, waving it to dim the lights and to spread a scent of cinnamon around the room. Ron loved cinnamon. With another wave of her wand, the candles were lit. She sat down on the edge of the bed with butterflies in her stomach, waiting anxiously for Ron to arrive.

Eventually, there was a knock on the door. She got up nervously and wiped her sweaty hands on the short dress she was wearing. She approached the door and pulled it open, pasting a smile on her face. Ron was standing on the other side of the door, holding a bouquet of roses. She smiled and accepted them.

"Thank you, Ron," she whispered, her voice raspy, "They're lovely."

"Are we going out to eat?" he asked, looking at her tenderly. She shook her head.

"I thought we might eat in tonight." She said instead, gesturing around the room, "I had Rosmerta send up our usual meals."

"How romantic," he murmured, giving her a sweet kiss on the lips. She sighed and melted into him, entwining her hands in his hair. He wrapped is arms around her waist, pulling her closer and Hermione deepened the kiss. Ron pulled away.

"Wow," he sighed, "What a hello."

She smiled, trying to mask the disappointment on her face. She went over to the table she had set up and motioned for him to join her. He smiled and complied, sitting down across from her. Hermione uncorked a bottle of champagne.

"Is it a special occasion?" Ron asked in confusion as she poured each of them a glass. She smiled and shook her head, discreetly transfiguring her champagne into apple juice. Taking a long sip, she moved her chair next to Ron's and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I've missed you," he murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. She looked up at him grinning mischievously.

"I've missed you, too," she whispered, capturing his lips in hers once again. He looked surprised, but quickly responded, pulling her onto his lap. She deepened the kiss, and the two pushed the uneaten meals away, collapsing onto the bed, their lips never parting. Anxious, she started to unbutton his top, placing a kiss on his shoulder after she freed each button. As soon as his shirt was shed, she wasted little time in moving to the zipper of his pants. He pulled away and looked at her in surprise.

"I thought you wanted to wait," he pointed out, looking at her quizzically. Damn it, why did he have to be so perfect?

"I-I did, Ron, but I realized that if we're destined to be together, then why wait?" she responded nervously, moving forward to kiss him again. He pulled back.

"That's the point I've been making since July," he said enquiringly.

"Well, yes, but…" she started, biting her lip, "Well…"

"'Mione, what's wrong?" he asked, tilting her face to make eye contact. He could see panic reflected in the depths of the cinnamon orbs. She tried to look away, a traitorous tear trickling down her face, "What is it?"

"Nothing, can we just go back to what we were doing?" she asked shrilly, her dread making its way into her voice, and she leaned forward to kiss him. He pulled away again.

"'Mione, tell me," he insisted, looking into her eyes.

"Just kiss me, already!" she replied piercingly. He looked at her in bewilderment and hopped from the bed.

"Why are you keeping secrets from me, 'Mione?" he asked loudly. She collapsed, sobbing, and his look of confusion intensified, "I tell you everything! What is so terrible that you can't tell me about it?"

"Because..." she uttered tearfully.

"Because why, Hermione?" he repeated.

"Because I'm pregnant!" she shouted, throwing herself into him, "I'm pregnant, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

He held her, baffled, as her words sunk in and let her cry into her shoulder. His expression turned cold and he disentangled himself from her. She slid onto the floor, shaking with sobs.

"Who is he?" he asked her, looking at her unsympathetically. She responded only by crying harder, "Who?!"

"Draco Malfoy, OK?" she yelled, leaping to her feet and pounding his chest with her fists, "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She ran into the bathroom and closed her eyes, sliding down the wall onto the floor and listening hard for his reaction.

* * *

Ron stared at the spot where she had just said the most life-altering thing anyone had ever said to him. Hurt terribly, he covered his face with his hands, his ears turning a red to match his hair. Hot, salty tears escaped his eyes and he moved over to the door of the bathroom, saying only two words before he turned on his heel and left in a cloud of depression.

"Why, 'Mione?"


	3. Handling the Mistake

Hermione couldn't afford to mope about. She had been weak regarding the surprising news, but she had promised her mother she would never let a man reduce her to tears and she took this promise to heart. There were things to do. Whether she liked it or not, she was going to need help if she wanted to attend seventh year.

Getting dressed quickly and quietly, she crept down the stairs, threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald green flames, her heart broken into a million tiny pieces.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" she announced, allowing the spinning of the grate dull her pain. All too soon, the circling stopped, and she stepped out onto the hearth of the Headmistress's office, heart-break returning full-force.

Professor McGonagall looked up unsurprised as the young woman entered her office, "Miss Granger," she greeted, gesturing to a chair on the other side of the desk. Hermione sat down obediently, clasping her hands nervously in her lap and staring at the ground. McGonagall looked at her expectantly.

"I have a problem," she whispered. The Headmistress scoffed.

"I figured as much, Miss Granger. Otherwise, what are we doing here?"

Hermione smiled shakily, "Yes, well, this is really big."

"Are you going to tell me about it, or are you just going to sit there?" she asked. Sometimes Hermione wished McGonagall could be more like Dumbledore.

"I-I'm pregnant, Professor," she whispered, keeping her eyes downcast. Saying that word felt almost like she was sealing some sort of unbreakable magical contract, and every time she said it, her stomach clenched painfully. McGonagall sighed disapprovingly.

"What would you like me to do about that, Miss Granger?" she asked impatiently.

"I wanted to make sure I would still be able to attend classes," Hermione clarified, her cheeks scarlet.

"For the most part, I suppose," the Professor replied, "Education is the most important thing. You seem to have forgotten that."

Hermione flinched, but nodded her head all the same, eyes directed at the floor. That had stung.

"You can attend classes until you feel you no longer can, and then we will have the make-up work sent to your dormitory. You can't very well go to class with a baby in your arms, so we'll need to arrange something regarding that, as well." Hermione nodded gratefully.

"I don't suppose you want this to get around, do you?" the Professor said, her voice softening slightly. Hermione shook her head.

"No, Ma'am,"

"Very well, I will only tell those necessary," unless Hermione imagined it, the corners of McGonagall's lips turned up ever so slightly into what could have been a reassuring smile. Maybe the new Headmistress could be more like Dumbledore than Hermione gave her credit for.

* * *

Draco looked up at the ominous castle, pulling his cloak tighter around his body, a sense of resignation descending on him. He was back. After he'd sworn never to come back. He sighed and climbed the steps reluctantly. At least he had escaped the rush of students coming on the train.

Reluctantly, he climbed the stone steps and entered the cheerily lit Great Hall, the warmth washing over him a nice change from the whipping winds of the grounds.

* * *

A clap of thunder sounded outside the window amidst the pounding of the raindrops on the window pane of her room. She took one look around and a glint of silver caught her eye as a flash of lightening illuminated the room. She bent down and reached her hand under her bed, puzzled, and her hand touched cold metal.

Hermione sat down on her bed, her half packed trunk lying open beside her. She was clenching a small necklace. It was a heart-shaped, silver locket with a lion carved on the front. Tears were pouring down her face and she was shaking with silent sobs. She tightened her fist around the necklace and clenched it to her heart, good memories flooding back to her and breaking her heart even more. As much as it pained her, she pushed the memories to the back of her head and dropped the locket onto the floor so she could continue packing her trunk.

The silver clattered on the hardwood and snapped open, the happy faces of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley waving and staring up at the darkened ceiling as a crushed version of the young woman in the photo, not even a shadow of the happiness she'd once felt etched into her features, bustled around gathering last minute things.

* * *

"Hi Harry," greeted Hermione timidly, having just run into her friend at the Welcoming Feast. Harry looked at her coldly.

"I have one question before I judge how disgusted I am," Harry said callously.

Hermione flinched, "What's that?"

"Why? Why Malfoy? And why did you do that to Ron?"

"You have to understand I would never _ever _hurt Ron intentionally," she began hurriedly. Harry regarded her cynically.

"Intentional or not, look at him," he said, gesturing down the table. Hermione complied. Ron was sitting hunched over his dessert (Treacle Tart), stabbing it aimlessly with his fork. His face was the epitome of depression and hurt. Her heart wrenched painfully as she turned back to her raven-haired friend.

"I was drunk and so _lonely _you have no idea—" Hermione tried to explain.

"I'm pretty sure I understand what loneliness is," Harry cut her off grimly. Hermione could have severed her own tongue after that brilliant comment. So far, her explanation wasn't going well.

"I invited Ron over that night, and he couldn't come, so I went downstairs for a drink. One turned into two, two turned into four…eventually I lost count. I didn't even realise who was sitting next to me, and we got to talking,"

"Do I really want to know the rest of the story? I already know where babies come from," Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. Hermione emitted a humourless laugh, and her hand travelled subconsciously to her stomach.

"That's all there is to it. He was as depressed as I was, and I found comfort in that," she sighed, "When I woke up the next morning, I didn't even remember what had happened right away. Believe me, I would have cursed that little ferret-boy into oblivion had he taken even two milliseconds more making his getaway."

"Okay, fine. On a scale of one to ten, my disgust rating is only an eight."

"That's a high disgust rating," Hermione sighed, drooping in disappointment.

"Well, you did sleep with Draco Malfoy," Harry shuddered, "And you are carrying his child," he had to suppress a retch, "But as long as you know how disgusting it is…"

"I spent an hour in the shower that morning scrubbing myself roughly, trying to make myself feel clean. It didn't work. I still feel dirty." Harry's laugh resembled Hermione's and he threw his arm around his friend. The two made their way slowly up to the seventh floor, Hermione feeling incredibly indebted to Harry for his trust in her. They stopped outside of the Fat Lady.

"Look, 'Mione, I believe you. Partially because I know you're going to need help to get through this. But the thing is," he paused, "Ron doesn't. And if he doesn't have me, he doesn't have anyone."

"I know," she sighed, her eyes glistening sadly, "And I also know he'd see it as the ultimate form of betrayal if he saw you with me, so you go first, I'll follow in a minute."

Harry looked relieved, "Thanks, 'Mione. I'll try to talk to him,"

"Thanks," she smiled weakly, and embraced her friend. When he broke out of her hug, he smiled encouragingly at her.

"It'll be okay, 'Mione," he said supportively.

She nodded and watched as her friend climbed in through the portrait hole. After a few minutes, she followed, keeping her head down and her face covered by her bushy brown hair.

When Hermione entered the Common Room, she looked around, taking in small amounts of comfort from the familiarity of the plush red armchairs and the gold hangings. Her eyes met Ron's briefly. He looked away hurriedly, but not before she saw the hurt in his eyes.

Pretending not to have noticed, though her conscience was wriggling painfully, she continued to look around the room, until her eyes fell upon a door that hadn't been there before. She crossed the room quickly, perplexed. Everyone else's eyes seemed to be passing over the door as if it weren't there, which bewildered her further. Looking at the door again, she read the small golden plaque on the door.

_Hermione Granger: Personal Dormitory_

Personal dormitory? Baffled, she gently pushed the mahogany door open and stepped into the circular room. It was smaller than the dormitories upstairs, but there was a queen-sized bed directly across from the door, a large wardrobe and a full-size mirror to the left, and to the right, another door, leading to what Hermione assumed was a bathroom. Her trunk was at the end of her bed.

Hermione walked towards the bed and sat down, moving her hands over the soft red blankets. The tips of her fingers touched rough parchment. Surprised, she picked up the parchment and waved her wand, lighting the candles around the room.

_Miss Granger_

_This is your new personal dormitory. The entrance is only visible to me, you, and those you reveal its existence to. Consider yourself the Secret Keeper of sorts._

_We do not want to draw attention to the fact that you have a dormitory of your own. Therefore, tell only those necessary. _

_Professor M. McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

It would be much easier to keep a pregnancy a secret if she had her own room, she had to admit. Gratefully, she moved to her trunk and fetched her most recent novel out of it. Sighing softly, she collapsed onto the comfortable bed and escaped into the exquisite world of her novel.


	4. Repaying a Debt

Hermione awoke the next morning to harsh rays of sunshine streaming in through window. The clock read 6:00. Grunting angrily, she flipped over to her other side, seized her wand and waved it, closing the deep red curtains.

She closed her eyes again, intending to return to her pleasant dreams but her stomach shook fiercely. Clamping one hand over her mouth, she rolled out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. Almost not fast enough, she knelt over the toilet and heaved violently, emptying her stomach. After a minute, she stood up, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her pyjama top. She moved to the sink and rinsed her mouth vigorously with water, trying to rid her mouth of that rancid taste.

Mouth finally free of that horrid taste, Hermione slowly raised her head to look at herself in the mirror. She gasped in horror.

Leaning in to get a better look, she touched the dark circles under her eyes tenderly. They seemed to have formed overnight. Opening and closing her jaw, she turned on the taps and splashed her face, relishing in the shock of the icy water in her eyes. She scrubbed forcefully to remove the grit from her eyes, and by the time she was done, her face was red and tender, but she was more awake. Sighing in exasperation as she looked at her watch, she undressed quickly, eager to get into the shower. Letting the warmth wake her senses, she stayed comfortably in the shower for a long time, letting the pressure of the water soothe her frazzled nerves and massage her tense muscles.

When she could hear her alarm clock in the next room, she sighed and turned off the tap, stepping nimbly onto the cold floor of the bathroom before sprinting into the next room to turn off the alarm. She dressed quickly, rapidly pulled a brush through her untameable hair, and stepped out into the Common Room. Keeping her head down and her face covered by her frizzy mane, she made her way hastily across the thus-far empty room, chocolate eyes darting left and right in search for a glimpse of a certain red haired someone. Breathing a sigh of relief when she exited the Portrait Hole, she quickened her pace and made her way to the Great Hall. Unfortunately, she was cornered by one person she didn't want to see. A red-haired someone.

"Hey, Hermione! What are you doing up so early?" Ginny asked, smiling brightly. Hermione faintly wondered how she could be so calm when the whole world was caving in.

"I tried to escape the Common Room before your brother woke up," she admitted, "And I was awoken this morning at six o'clock with a migraine and morning sickness," she added in an undertone. Ginny grimaced in sympathy, and looped her arm in the older girl's.

"Did you realise we have classes together this year?" she said happily, "Defence will be more bearable with you in the class."

"Have you forgotten already, Gin?" Hermione asked quietly, "Snape's dead, remember?"

Ginny's face dropped in semi-sorrow, "It's hard not to forget," she admitted softly, "I want to forget. The war did so much damage to everyone. You know, every time I look over at Harry, it's funny to not see Colin trailing him with a camera."

Hermione laughed thickly, suppressing tears, and it felt strange to realise that the girl next to her was only one year younger. She felt aeons older, especially with the, um, _thing _she was carrying. She knew the younger girl had lost a brother, a brother's ear and her other brother had been turned into a half-werewolf, but Hermione had lost both her parents, her naivety and innocence, the love of her life and her dignity. She had been aged by the war, forced to grow up in a very short period of time, and felt like she was already middle-aged.

"I know, Gin," she whispered soothingly, willingly taking the role of older sister to the distressed girl. It was funny how their roles switched so easily depending on the situation, "It's terrible waking up every morning knowing that my parents are alive but have no idea who I am. I thought I could sympathize with Neville before, but I had no idea what it felt like."

"I miss Fred and it's hard realizing that George will never be the same. He hardly speaks anymore, and I'm worried for him. Plus Bill's baby is on the way, and he's going mad about the effect he'll have on them. Fleur's basically told him she doesn't give a shit, that she'll love it no matter what, and I love her for it, but that just made him more worried. She's okay, now, I guess. And Percy still hasn't forgiven himself for what happened. I can hear him screaming at night, always the same words: "I'm so sorry, Fred, I'm so sorry,"" she said all of this in one breath, and inhaled deeply, refilling her lungs. Worried, and ready to repay how helpful the girl had been to her, Hermione pulled her into an empty classroom.

"It's going to be hard getting used to it, but everything will go back to at least semi-normal. Everybody's having trouble adjusting. What you can do, though, is tell Percy that no one blames him, and try to get George back to his prank shop. Tell him the kids of Hogwarts need him or something. As for Bill, there's not much you can do at this point. You'll just have to wait until the baby is born. And congratulate Phlegm for me, will you? How are your parents faring?"

"Mum spends the whole day crying. She hasn't even done any knitting since last Christmas. And Dad looks ready to explode most of the time."

"Well, never would I claim to be an expert, but maybe your parents could stand to hear 'I love you' more often. Basically, everyone is going to have to deal with everything in their own way."

Ginny sniffled and nodded gratefully, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. She raised her wand and muttered a spell. Her hair was suddenly shiny and there was no trace of tears on her face. Hermione looked at her, impressed.

"What spell was that?"

"Just something one of my friends in Ravenclaw made for me," Ginny replied, "She calls it the 10 Second Preparation Spell,"

Hermione nodded, "What's the incantation?"

"Prapere," she replied, smiling faintly. Hermione stored that away in her mind and muttered her thank you, looping her arm in the younger girl's and the two made their way to the Great Hall.

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**A/N - Thank you to my reviewers, by the way! I don't know how I feel about this chapter, it's kind of a filler, but I wanted a part that showed how people were dealing with the war. Leave me a review and tell me how I can improve!**


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